Silver Falls on Horizon
by paopei135
Summary: A new king ascends to the throne of Kingdom of Draconia, following the death of the late king. The young Draco aims to be the greatest ruler in history, and builds an army for the conquest of the whole continent. Enter Harry Potter, an orphan conscripted against his will. In the storm of war and love, coupled with deadly court intrigue, will Harry be able to attain his love?
1. 1: The King is Dead, Long Live the King!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. J.K. Rowling owns it all. I wish I do.

Notice: This is a Harry/Draco fanfiction. It contains mature themes, gruesome scenes, and… graphic "love" scenes. Harry is always, always top in my story and Draco is always, always the bottom. I thought a character cannot have only one shade of personality, because people in real lives do not, and I'll try my best to present the various shades of personality a character might have in a world.

Characters might not be completely canon, though I'll try not to abandon their canon personalities.

By the way, this is the first fanfiction I ever wrote, so healthy criticism is welcome and any kind of suggestion is welcome, so I may improve, EXCEPT a request to change the plot or the character outline.

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**Silver Falls on Horizon**

A Harry Potter Fanfiction

Ch. 1: The King is Dead, Long Live the King!

Fierce gusts of wind attacked the snowy realms of kingdom relentlessly and without mercy. Even the roots of the very trees seemed to tremble and ready to be blown uprooted at any moment. It was the coldest night of winter in the Kingdom of Draconia, and the blizzard which has started since few weeks ago caused every window and door barred with thick wooden panels and straw mats. The only sign of life, or rather, the trace of it, that could be seen amidst the rampage of the icy wind was the occasional flicker of lights that escaped through very small openings on the panels covering the doors and windows. Even that was hard to notice; every now and then the snowstorm would overwhelm any glimmer of light that made its way through.

One would say it was indeed an appropriate weather for the kingdom: winter, the season of death; was indeed a suitable background for the dying monarch of the realms, it had all the reason and circumstance to stage the king's upcoming death as even more tragic, and the more naturally tragic the death of a monarch is, the more sympathy his successor would be able to garner from the people, saving extra time and effort needed for all the alternative court intrigues to secure power in case certain disagreements arose from the ranks of peers and nobility. At least that was how Crown Prince Draco interpreted the season, leaning on a pillar and looking through the windows of his chambers the violent snowstorm that whirled and coiled around the Silver Palace and the Royal Capital.

As the Prince was lost in his own thoughts, came behind him the tall, dark figure of his trusted subject; as careful and deliberate as a feather landing, as silent as a shadow would be. Nevertheless, the Prince, without even a single glance behind, seemed to notice the presence.

"Hmm?" Whatever Prince Draco's questions were, they seemed to be compact enough to be compressed into a single 'hmm'.

"Your Highness," called the tall, dark man, "Her Majesty the Queen is currently standing a vigil at the Temple of Albus, praying for a miracle for His Majesty."

"And?" The Prince asked uninterestedly.

"It is most unfortunate that His Majesty's condition seem to be worsening regardless, every minute is critical, Your Highness, the royal doctors seem to be in opinion that all hopes are extinguished," replied the dark man in a genuinely sympathetic manner.

"Indeed, Zabini," Prince Draco finally cast a glance to his subject, turning from the window. "This is a scenario I have been expecting for some time."

"Your Highness, may I suggest that the best course of action would be to wait on the King, he could pass at any moment now and there is the matter of his will…"

"His will, will be entirely unnecessary, Zabini," The Prince declared very, very softly.

"I beg your pardon, my Prince?" asked Zabini in disbelief.

"I have no desire to bind the extent of my reign with the shackles of the late monarch's will, my friend," said Prince Draco, decisively examining his nails.

"Your Highness…" Zabini lingered as if he had something more to say.

"Leave me, Zabini, and return either moments before Father's passing or hours after it," Prince Draco lifted a particularly dangerous silver gaze at his subject. "The last thing I need is a living dead haunting my rule. I shall not be present to accept Father's dying wishes. Go and return when you have a more urgent matter to report."

Zabini could have sworn the Prince's eyes changed from silver to volatile mercury, and pressed by the Prince's icy irritation, he prostrated in submission then left the Prince's presence as silently as he came, knowing he would again return to face the Prince.

Alone again, the Prince stepped closer towards the window and stared blankly for a moment into the wide, snowy expanse still ravaged by the unceasing blizzard. A few idle minutes seemed to pass until he threw open the windows as if possessed by some sudden violent impulse. The winds almost immediately invaded the well-warmed chambers, and Draco received the sheer unbridled chill in the very centre of the course. He struggled to suppress the involuntary shivering that began to wrack his body, and bit his red lips with a pearly white set of teeth that were a stark contrast in colour.

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Queen Narcissa stood praying in front of the divine statue in the chapel halls of the Temple of Albus. It has been days since she chose to stand vigil before the altar to the god of light, allowing nothing to pass through her mouth save few sips of holy water. Her once-lustrous hair now cracked and swayed as limp wisps, her well-manicured fingers were emaciated into bony appendages. Such was her zeal and wish to pray for her husband the king's recovery, that she seemed to put her very life into her prayers— each day her prayer grew in fervour while her appearance deteriorated.

"Albus, God of Light… grant this kingdom and your servant mercy," the Queen allowed thick drops of tears to fall upon her praying hands, "Grant my husband the king your grace and let him lead this kingdom to fulfil your wish…"

The altar remained shadowed during the dark of the night, which was a clear sign that a supplicant's prayers are not accepted. An accepted prayer would have brought a radiant illumination upon the altar.

"Albus, God of Light…" as the Queen again began her whispers before the altar, a handmaiden approached in sorrowful reverence.

"Your Majesty," the servant implored, yet the Queen remained oblivious to anything save her own prayers. The handmaiden seemed to give a small, inaudible sigh, then proceeded to inform her mistress, "My Queen, His Majesty the King has passed; Prince Draco sent me to inform you, my Queen."

The Queen's prayers stopped immediately. She wiped her tears with a silk handkerchief, and set the folds of her dress before saying, "Then there is no need for further grief or prayers. Let us go see the new king."

"Yes, my Queen," the handmaiden followed the Queen's exit, and behind them the golden doors of the Temple of Albus closed with a silent thud.

* * *

Queen Narcissa arrived at the King's bedchamber to find her son, Crown Prince Draco, standing next to her husband's deathbed. Lines of statesmen, nobles, and courtiers began to arrive to see the last of their liege, the women holding handkerchiefs as if agreed in unison beforehand, the men in their black attire mourning the death of the monarch. The beautiful Countess Zabini was the first to arrive, the mourning garbs still more accentuating the curves of her sensual body. Her son, the tall and dark Blaise Zabini, stood in waiting close to the Prince, his eyes wary watching the lines of nobles who came to pay respects. 'Accursed court customs of Draconia,' he thought, 'not even a moment of peace is allowed for Draco.'

The next to arrive was Baroness Parkinson, the richest woman in the realms, and her daughter Pansy, a not quite beautiful woman yet possessing an elegance that betrayed her pug-faced countenance. Her eyes followed Prince Draco's every single movement, glinting almost in a fanatical worship for the blond.

A few corpulent statesmen later, entered the Prime Minister, Duke Longbottom, and his wife Duchess Alice, followed by a stout, chubby young man who was their son, none other than Neville Longbottom, infamous throughout the kingdom as the most incompetent heir. Apparently Prince Draco was in agreement with the popular sentiment as his nose very subtly scrunched when Neville made a tumble while entering the chamber. His father the duke turned sharply and whispered in exasperation, while making sure his voice was toned down enough so as to attract no attention, "If you cannot maintain even a second of upright posture in these halls, sir, kindly leave before you cast a baleful light upon the name of your house!"

The last to arrive after lines of nobles were the Weasley family. As impoverished nobles, they had virtually no significance whatsoever in the kingdom, and none of the nobles showed any attempt to acknowledge them. Lady Weasley, regardless, offered her condolences to the Queen, and the Queen seemed to be touched more than ever by the sincerest sympathy she had seen from the nobles so far. Lord Weasley, a balding noble in threadbare silk, attempted to appear stern and charismatic as befit a head of a noble house, however, what he presumed to be stern was only stiff at best, and this created an aberrant, out-of-place comical atmosphere in the chamber, until, most unfortunately, it attracted the attention of Prince Draco. Unlike the Queen who found them acceptable, the Prince explicitly glared at the Weasley couple and the scores of gangly children they brought with them, and seemed to exert a tremendous self-control to hold himself back from throwing an insulting remark or ordering their ejection from the chamber.

Prime Minister Longbottom, being the highest authority apart from the royal family, began his address: "Brothers and sisters in service to the crown, tonight, I, in immeasurable despair, gaze upon the passing of our king, Lucius II, and in immeasurable rapture, witness the coming of our king, Draco of House of Malfoy. May Albus save the king and his reign, and may his house rule forever. The king is dead, long live the king!"

Every mouth in the chamber chanted in unison, "Long live the king!" "Long live the king!"

Amidst the laudations, the young Prince Draco, now King Draco, bent to kiss his father's hand, without shedding a single tear of loss. None could hear the oath he was making in his heart: 'I shall make this kingdom strong, Father. I shall be remembered as Draco the Great, not Draco of House of Malfoy. I shall exceed you father, and this kingdom will rise into greatness before my death. Rest in peace, my king, your kingdom is safe in my hands.'


	2. 2: To Procure a Quantity

Disclaimer:

I don't own anything. J.K. Rowling owns it all. I wish I do.

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Comments:

My initial plan was to elaborate on the universe of my story first, and keep Harry until the last part. However, I found he was much too... addictive, and in impatience perhaps allowed a bit of my wild imagination to run free for 2 lines, I think. Nothing too great. You'll know it when you read it. That's how my Harry looks.

Winter holidays are too long, don't you think? But it gives more time to write, yes.  
I'm hungry at the moment, by the way, so I'll be away from keyboard. Cheers.

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**Silver Falls on Horizon**

A Harry Potter Fanfiction

Ch. 2: To Procure a Quantity

Neville Longbottom sat alone on the throne of his ducal court, the hall was dimly lit and the once-lavish palace exuded only solitude and ominous shadows. One by one, servants had either resigned or fled, and no one, not even illegal poachers, dared to roam the forests and hills of the Longbottom duchy; following the death of King Lucius II, the first step that the new King Draco took was to eliminate those who refused to pass the changes he decreed on his late father's laws. Duke Frank Longbottom was the most adamant one in challenging King Draco's every policy, and a few days after Frank Longbottom made a particularly acerbic objection against King Draco's new conscription laws, the King had him arrested while he was passing through the Emerald Gate of the Silver Palace. The Duchess, Alice, was also arrested summarily, and in a show trial that lasted no more than two hours, the couple was charged with the crime of _lèse_-_majesté, _corruption, and tax evasion, and sentenced to lifelong incarceration in the dungeons of the king—the judges argued that the only reason the convicts escaped death sentence was due to His Majesty's mercy. The general gossips in the market squares were that the Duke and the Duchess were tortured daily, that their screams could be heard even from the vicinities, and that their son escaped any danger only thanks to his slowness and stupidity. No one could verify the truth of the gossips. However, as words travel faster than anything else in the world, they reached Neville Longbottom's ears in time, and the scared young man locked himself in the Longbottom ducal palace, sitting aimlessly and cluelessly and hopelessly on the throne in his father's stead. Lacking the wisdom of his parents, he allowed, unknowingly, his demesne to fall into mismanagement; his estate was accumulating debts as fast as a small pebble would cause an avalanche.

Today was the day noted in the royal missive Neville received some few days ago, which described that "the promising young men birthed in the valour of Kingdom of Draconia" would be appropriated as soldiers, or as "squires, knights-in-training in the Royal Knight Chapter, to serve as brave pillars of the battlefield", and in a long, thin, winding calligraphy, emphasised the justifications for the mandatory conscription "by the Law decreed by King Draco and ratified by the unanimous vote of the Silver Council", and that Neville, as "honourable and sworn servant to the Kingdom of Draconia and her perpetuity", should in any case oblige when "the newly appointed Master Conscriptor, Sir Theodore Nott" visits him to assess the conditions of his men and take them away. The missive ended with an overwhelming praise for "Draco of House of Malfoy, by the Grace of Albus King of Draconia and all His Realms, Grand Prince of the Duchy of Slytherin, Lord of the Silver Palace, First Councillor of the Silver Council, Order of the Emerald Serpent First Class, etc., etc."

As high nobility, Neville would be exempt from conscription, but his men would not, and Neville sadly contemplated the woeful turn of events that befell those who remained loyal to his father and opted to stay. He blamed himself for his uselessness and incapability to protect even his own household, and in the dark of the dusty hall fat tears ran down his cheeks as he accused himself of weakness. The tears turned into sobs when his thoughts reached that of the Creevey brothers; they grew up together with him when his father took them as servants when their entire village was slaughtered by bandits. Then his thought touched upon Harry, the stable boy. He was not familiar with the young man much, but his father the Duke liked the man for his exceptional skills in handling the horses and managing the stables, often taking him to hunt in the woods to care for the horses. Gone were the days when the horses of the Longbottom Duchy ran fast and robust, gone were the days of joyful laughter and celebration in the ducal palace, servants, even one as lowly as a stable boy was to be taken into the Royal Knight Chapter, where survival of the fittest was applied to the utmost end of extent.

Neville was deep sulking in his thoughts when the doors to the hall opened. In came Sir Theodore Nott, a lanky man with oversized front teeth and a complexion of greyish tinge that made him look just like a rat, the ice-cold, calculating glint in his eyes never betraying the vicious efficiency required from a conscriptor. However, the man did not seem to possess the charisma and the aura of command Neville saw so often from his father and the royalty. Undoubtedly, Sir Nott earned his station due to the limits of his talents; that is, his talent to complete with perfection the duties of a conscriptor yet unable to comprehend the workings beyond his mind. Neville's train of thoughts stopped when a dozen of knights in silver armour armed to the teeth followed in; each held a sword encrusted with the deepest of emeralds, and each held a shield that had the arms of a tree: a brown branch with six thorns, sprouting from it three white flowers. Only then Neville realised that these were the Hawthorn Knights, King Draco's elite task force that protected him from the time he was a crown prince, sworn not to the Kingdom of Draconia but to the will of their liege alone.

As realisation dawned upon Neville's eyes, Sir Nott stated in a quiet, yet viciously effective tone: "His Majesty the King has deemed it only too appropriate that he should take care of this matter personally, due to your father the Duke's high station. Lord Neville, know that the presence of these knights is a display of His Majesty's benevolent affection towards willing and obedient subjects, a promise that those who serve him will be kept close and privy to his will as these knights are."

'Or a promise that I've got to obey on pain of death,' thought Neville.

"And now on to the task at hand," said Sir Nott, "the entries from your account of estates mention at least fifty servants that serve in this ducal palace alone. Allow me to assess their… quality and procure a reasonable quantity to be taken into the Knight Chapter."

"I'm afraid," whispered Neville, and coughed, which Sir Nott apparently found quite amusing due to the possibility of another meaning, "I'm afraid that the state of affairs here in the place would render myself unable to meet your demands."

Sir Nott cast a bone-chilling glance at Neville. "My demands, sir? These are the King's demands. Allow me to enlighten you further," The Hawthorn Knights drew swords in unison, "that His Majesty the King allowed a most flexible utilisation of his Knights should circumstances prove… complicated," Sir Nott dragged his speech down to the point of explicit threat.

"That… that was not what I meant," Neville felt his face flush in embarrassment at his own stupidity. "What I meant is that… is that the servant actually fled this place, you know, the others resigned," in his nervousness Neville failed to realise that he no longer maintained a formal choice of words. "I've only got eleven men left here in the palace!"

"Of which I am already aware," replied Sir Nott. "Then those eleven men would have to suffice. Men!" He called, "Bring these eleven men to be assessed."

Few moments later, two knights ushered in ten men, some young and some old. Sir Nott arched an eyebrow. "I do not seem to have the eleventh man here," he observed, to which one of the knights replied, "My lord, one of the men hanged himself in the storage."

Neville's fingers trembled and his cheeks twitched. So one of his servants chose death than to be dragged into an unwanted conscription. What a courage. Choose death rather than surrender free will, he thought.

"A most unfortunate display of cowardice," commented Sir Nott, as if he were reading Neville's mind. "Those without the courage to serve the Kingdom already censor themselves to save our precious time."

Neville wanted to give a retort, however, he found his tongue unable to utter another word, as if turned into stone in his mouth. He cursed himself for the lack of bravery, what his father would see an utter shame on the family.

Sir Nott then examined the men one by one, grabbing the chins and looking for any sign of far-sightedness, and ordered a few men of questionable stature to try and lift one of the knights' shields with a single arm, and when they failed, scrunched up his nose in a most dissatisfied manner and turned to the Creevey brothers. Neville's heartbeat quickened.

"This one's limbs are much too young and frail to lift a sword," Sir Nott said, "He would inconvenience the training." Dennis Creevey let out a sigh of relief.

"This one, however, should be able to improve by time," Sir Nott nodded to a knight, who proceeded subsequently to separate Colin Creevey from the rest. Neville tried his best not to cry in front of Sir Nott, his father would never forgive him if he had cried—he was twenty-two, and men at the age simply did not cry.

"Now, what do we have here?" Sir Nott's tone was still icy, yet one could feel the excitement in his voice. "A young man of most appropriate quality," Sir Nott was barely able to hide his approval.

Neville saw the stable boy, Harry, currently being assessed by Sir Nott. Two knights held his arms, and Sir Nott seemed to examine him as one would examine cattle at the market square. 'At least Dennis stays,' thought Neville, 'I wish Sir Nott would just do away with Harry instead of Colin.'

Sir Nott ordered Harry to be stripped, and examined his body personally, his ice-cold eyes took in the stable boy's labour-trained muscles, and noted that the man was tall, very tall; as tall as the knights holding him if not taller.

"Lift this shield with your left arm," ordered Sir Nott, and Harry received the shield from a knight, then lifted it over his head with ease. Sir Nott gave a satisfied nod.

"How long have you served the Duke?" asked Sir Nott.

"Barely 5 years," answered Harry with a deep, low voice, without attaching a 'sir' or 'milord', which Sir Nott seemed not to care or pay attention.

"You, male, tell me about this man," Sir Nott asked one of the older servants.

"He, milord, was one of my lord the Duke's favourites," answered the old man, "the youngster's got a knack of handling horses, stallions and mares alike," he added.

"A soldier should always know his steed to the minutest detail, a most appropriate quality," Sir Nott concluded, "most appropriate indeed."

Sir Nott turned back to Neville. "My lord Longbottom, this would conclude our task here. In the name of His Majesty, King Draco, I decide that these two men shall enter the Knight Chapter," he said, and the knights bound their hands. "The rest, I see, would be nothing more but parasites that feed upon the grains of our fields, they shall do better to stay here and cater to you, I imagine. Long live His Majesty!" He turned and left immediately, followed by the Harry and Colin Creevey, who had their heads hung down, and the knights behind them.

Neville sat in silence on his father's throne. The eight servants who were left behind stood in amazed contemplation of what had just transpired. Few saw that their loyalty had been exhausted by this incident, and left the halls silently, to leave their master once and for all. The rest that stayed behind, accepted in dismay and defeat that nothing they could do can change their lives, and returned to whatever chores and works they had in the abandoned palace. Dennis Creevey was the last to stay in the hall, and lifting his head he saw his master's silent tears, and realised in surprise that for the first time in his service, he saw Neville Longbottom's tears lacking fear and cowardice.


End file.
